Responding with wonderment and awe: in a classroom situation a.k.a. actually caring about what you're learning.
Figure 1: A mad scientist who, despite his evilness, is responding with awe.
I've always loved chemistry because of the stereotyped images it brings up in my mind--a mad, smirking scientist in full lab gear holding two test tubes and pouring, hoping that his creation will further evil like the above.
I had such images in my mind when we worked on the double-replacement section of the lab. Even though the lab was fairly simple (we were only mixing two aqueous solutions in each situation) and demanded not much from us, I was utterly fascinated with the results. I could only think that whoever remarked that science was not an art must have not experienced much chemistry at all. We (my group) eagerly anticipated each mixing--treating each step in a very "holy" manner. And when we did, we were treated to a magnificent sight. Dazzling colours filled my senses. For example, certain two solutions (I cannot quite recall their names now) mixed to form a sample of the most lovely blue, cotton-candy looking cloud. Another resulted in the formation of a solution whose colour made me think of that Felix Felicis potion from Harry Potter. I almost wanted to drink it. In fact, at the end, after we recorded our results, we could not resist mixing up all the solutions (of course, we received permission to do this) into one test tube. This "super solution" ended up looking like coffee with lots of bubbling at the surface. I just could not help but comment on each process (even though it must've sounded quite annoying to an outsider). Even though the boys scorned and mocked us for our strange preoccupation and giggling over the outcomes of each process of the experiment, I didn't care. Who could really care about those dunderheads when there was just something absolutely divine happening before our eyes?
In retrospect, I suppose I sound like I'm wildly exaggerating an incident and a deranged maniac. But for me, it was really a magical moment. It didn't matter that we weren't going to get graded on who responded with "the most awe", or that we were even going to get a grade on this (other than the completion grade). Being there was inherently a reward in itself.
Responding with wonderment and awe is a skill not only required for "intelligent behavior" but also living. The man who cannot appreciate the sunrise for is virtually dead. I'm happy that this habit is one that I came into this class possessing, and won't have to improve much on (as compared to some of the others, such as "accuracy and precision"). But, I hope I will never lose this habit--which is so very much more and dearer than just another ordinary "habit"--in my life. Death would be infinitely preferable to this.
Figure 2: The solution that reminded me of the Felix Felicis potion
Responding with wonderment and awe: in a classroom situation a.k.a. actually caring about what you're learning.
Figure 1: A mad scientist who, despite his evilness, is responding with awe.
I've always loved chemistry because of the stereotyped images it brings up in my mind--a mad, smirking scientist in full lab gear holding two test tubes and pouring, hoping that his creation will further evil like the above.
I had such images in my mind when we worked on the double-replacement section of the lab. Even though the lab was fairly simple (we were only mixing two aqueous solutions in each situation) and demanded not much from us, I was utterly fascinated with the results. I could only think that whoever remarked that science was not an art must have not experienced much chemistry at all. We (my group) eagerly anticipated each mixing--treating each step in a very "holy" manner. And when we did, we were treated to a magnificent sight. Dazzling colours filled my senses. For example, certain two solutions (I cannot quite recall their names now) mixed to form a sample of the most lovely blue, cotton-candy looking cloud. Another resulted in the formation of a solution whose colour made me think of that Felix Felicis potion from Harry Potter. I almost wanted to drink it. In fact, at the end, after we recorded our results, we could not resist mixing up all the solutions (of course, we received permission to do this) into one test tube. This "super solution" ended up looking like coffee with lots of bubbling at the surface. I just could not help but comment on each process (even though it must've sounded quite annoying to an outsider). Even though the boys scorned and mocked us for our strange preoccupation and giggling over the outcomes of each process of the experiment, I didn't care. Who could really care about those dunderheads when there was just something absolutely divine happening before our eyes?
In retrospect, I suppose I sound like I'm wildly exaggerating an incident and a deranged maniac. But for me, it was really a magical moment. It didn't matter that we weren't going to get graded on who responded with "the most awe", or that we were even going to get a grade on this (other than the completion grade). Being there was inherently a reward in itself.
Responding with wonderment and awe is a skill not only required for "intelligent behavior" but also living. The man who cannot appreciate the sunrise for is virtually dead. I'm happy that this habit is one that I came into this class possessing, and won't have to improve much on (as compared to some of the others, such as "accuracy and precision"). But, I hope I will never lose this habit--which is so very much more and dearer than just another ordinary "habit"--in my life. Death would be infinitely preferable to this.